Victorian Doves
by Forgivethis
Summary: Victorian AU, Olive-centric.
Once again, Olive was stuck in the third floor bedroom. She had been bad again, she had thrown a tantrum. Everybody had stared at her in such a horrified way as she got down on the floor in her fancy lace dress (the one she had cried, begged and whined for), scrunched up her face in the most hideous manner, and banged her fists on the ground, screaming bloody murder. One pair of horrified eyes in particular...Of course, Maid Someone (Olive never learned her name, so she called the maid Maid Someone) had sent her to the third floor bedroom again.

As Olive sat on the room's dingy bed and stared at the wall, she berated herself for what she had done. She regretted nothing about the tantrum, but she couldn't help but cry, the cry that everyone called a bratty whine, for Chyna. Her poor sister, she couldn't believe it...

It all began when Someone left the window open.

Olive whined and pouted for her to open the window for three hours, but it was worth it. Finally, Maid Someone let out a cry of frustration, and walked over to the window. Someone angrily opened the window and stormed out the third floor bedroom. She turned towards Olive.

"You know, not everything in life can be gained by tantrums, you spoiled b-"

She caught herself. The help was never allowed to speak that way.

Olive's first feeling was indignation. Being spoiled wasn't something she wanted to be.  
I'd rather be noticed than spoiled, but my aspiration seems to be too far-fetched for this household.  
Olive quickly shook the thought out of her head and converted her indignation into pride.

"Watch yourself, Maid Someone." Olive cackled. "The servants who speak in such a tone never stay long. Be grateful I won't tattle."

Someone left the room, face red as a beet. Olive wasn't quite sure if it was from anger or embarrassment.

"Remember to bring up the tea tray," Olive called after her nastily.

Olive relished in the memory of the reaction she got from her for a few minutes.  
Her face, her beet red face...oh, what fun...  
Then she turned her mind to her sister China, or as Henrietta affectionately called her, Chyna. Chyna was her little sister, almost two years Olive's younger. Chyna was Olive's polar opposite, and yet, she was also the only person Olive loved. China was a very talented child. She could play seven instruments, three of which she had mastered at five years old. Her melodious voice attracted an audience from all different parts of the world. Her white-blonde hair and wide blue eyes, her beautiful, beautiful eyes, made all who looked at her gasp in delight. However, it was not the talent or beauty that made Olive love her so. Chyna was caring and delicate and gentle; Olive always thought if she was treated too roughly, she would break into a million crystal pieces. China was like a porcelain doll. Every detail, from the ribbons on her dress to the redness of her cheeks, was intricate perfection.

So when their mother reprimanded Chyna that day for skipping her piano lessons to play in the garden, and her tears began to slide down her cheeks, each one like a liquid diamond glinting in the light, Olive knew she had to direct the attention away from her. She did what she always did when she wanted something: she had a fit. she screeched and grabbed her mother's feet, screaming unintelligible words. Her mother tried to pry Olive off, but she clung on and bit her mother's hand any time it got close.

"You would never do this if anybody else was around, you fool," her mother grunted out. "You would never do this in front of anyone other than me, or China, or the maids."

Now that her mother had given her attention to Olive, there was none left for her other daughter.  
That's how Mother functions: when one daughter requires any attention, the other slips from her mind, as if she doesn't exist at all, or doesn't mean anything, or...  
Olive stopped herself.

Mission accomplished, she abruptly let go of her mother's leg and sent herself to the third floor bedroom. No need to wait for her mother to order her there. Still, her mother sent Maid Someone after her anyway, just to make sure she really did go to the third floor bedroom, and not to her mother's, the one with all her velvet cushions.

"Your flaming pride will fail you eventually, you devilish child!" Her mother was fuming.

As she looked over her shoulder, she saw Chyna's grateful face.

Her first thought was:  
It was worth it. I will always protect Chyna, no matter what.  
Her second thought was:  
Devilish Child, Devilish Child. It's like she doesn't know my name anymore.

That was how she ended up in the third floor bedroom with the window open. Olive pined for that day.  
That day, I wasn't actually a Devilish Child. It was a misnomer. Now I am, for I have done something truly terrible.  
Of course, her mother had called her that for many years, but only last night was the first night she had ever been a Devilish Child in Chyna's eyes. Not to mention her own... Henrietta sniffled as she continued to reminisce that fateful day.

* * * * *

She turned her face towards the window like a sunflower turned towards the sun. It was more comforting to have it open. Maid Someone would close it later, when she came to prepare Olive for the night. She sat on a stool by the window, looking dreamily at the view. It was nothing special, merely rows of identical houses, but Olive projected her mind further.  
Beyond these houses are tall, majestic mountains...I am only a few houses away from tall, majestic mountains  
. Through these dreamings, she could bear her time in the third floor bedroom.

The third floor bedroom had a single bed in the corner that was only big enough for one small child, curled into a tight ball. There was no other furniture. One bed, one window, some curtains. Four walls, one ceiling. That was an almost perfect summary of the third floor bedroom. The only other notable feature was the wallpaper. A repeated pattern of snow white doves, a basic two-dimensional shape, over and over into infinity. In her boredom, Olive named them all: from top left to right: Helia, Emmy, Lancaster, Pint, Maurice, Elmer...the list continued for every dove.

Day turned into night, and Olive discovered yet again. her time-out would last throughout the night, but this time, Maid Someone did not come back to close the window.

Perhaps she finally got too angry at me,  
Olive thought.  
I hope I did not offend her too much. After all, she would never serve me again, and I would be servant-less. Olive considered leaving the room and plead to Maid Someone to open the window. Being high class, Olive would never lift a finger to do something a maid couldn't do for her. If Olive did not close it herself, she would have to suffer a chilly night. However, she couldn't stand the idea of groveling to Maid Someone. After a long internal debate, Olive decided she would leave it open.

She realized at midnight as she lay shivering in bed she might have made a terrible decision. Even with Olive's entire body, head and all, under the covers, she could find no warmth in anything but her own breath against her hands. Still, her stubbornness prevented her from closing it.  
My flaming pride will keep me toasty...isn't that right, Mother?  
Olive joked to herself.

Although she tried to sleep despite the cold, slumber did not come, and she lay in bed all night curled in a ball, attempting to use her warm breath as a heat source. She lied like that for several hours, before she heard a sound, a sound like crumpling paper. A thousand speculations entered her mind-a monster under my bed, grinding his teeth? A winter fairy's feet crunching through her powdery snow?-but none of them seemed important enough to make her leave her minutely warm bed and feel the frigid, cold air.  
She heard it again, and again, but she refused to budge. But the sounds changed into light cooings and feather ruffling. This was enough to make Olive drag herself out of bed, wrapping the blanket around her like a toga. As she shuffled along the floor, her feet dragging, she felt something under her feet. In the darkness, without noticing, she had stepped on something. She picked it up. It was the silhouette of a crushed origami dove. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she noticed there was a spot on the wall devoid of any pattern. Her brain put together the pieces of the puzzle. The crumpled origami dove in her hands. A blank spot on the wall. The doves on the wall had come off, but they had somehow become three-dimensional. She noticed two other figures on the ground. Only two had come off. Olive grabbed for one and observed it. As it struggled in her severe grasp, she found it was identical to real doves, down to the beak. Slowly, however, it morphed. The downy feathers became folds, and the eyes disappeared. It was lifeless paper creation, an origami dove. A silent scream erupted in her mind, and she abruptly let go of the dove. Olive attempted to calm her nerves. After a few deep breaths, she composed herself.  
Olive looked at it mournfully. Then, noticing her wall, she saw how the phenomenon began. The wind blew and and another dove was born, peeling from the wall and dropping to the ground, too weak to fly.  
The wind blew it off, she thought wondrously. A miracle. There was still one dove left. Olive swore she would be more gentle with it. I will always protect this dove, no matter what.

* * * * *  
To think, I managed to ruin that in less than a fortnight. Olive scolded herself bitterly. Less than a fortnight. The dove was a symbol of something magical, it was proof that the world was a beautiful place at its core. It was Olive's joy, her little secret, something amazing that belonged to her. She treasured it, for it was a creature that had been conceived by a force unknown to humanity.

Less than a fortnight.

* * * * *  
Olive named her Purity. She wasn't quite sure which dove it was, considering location was the only thing that differentiated them, so she invented a new name for it: Purity. Olive considered the name a perfect fit. Every coo that came out of its beak was pure and sweet. It was a golden sound that could only come from an angelic creature like a dove.  
From that day forth, she kept it hidden in the third floor bedroom. Purity is mine, and no one else's. Olive would put herself in trouble twice as often just so she could go up to the third floor bedroom and play with Purity. She found Purity required no food or sustenance to live, so their was no need to sneak her any food. Together, they would spend their hours, Olive reading with Purity nipping her ears or resting on her shoulder. Sometimes, Olive would put Purity on her lap and talk to her, stroking her feathers as she complained about her day. Sometimes it would be about schoolwork and maids, other times it would be about a creeping feeling of isolation that only Purity could alleviate.

* * * * *  
On the seventh day of Purity's existence, she was discovered. What a day it was. The worst day in history. Worse than the day Constantine died, worse than the day Cleopatra was overthrown, worse than the day the Greeks lost to the Romans. It was the initiator of all my problems. Olive ranted on dramatically in her mind. Worse than the day Hannibal lost to Joannander the Great, worse than...  
"Olive?" A voice warbled. "Can I talk to you?" Chyna? Olive thought, shocked.

* * * * *  
Olive had been committing crime after crime, just so she could visit Purity. Today, she had taken her mother's china spoon and used it to dig up the petunias in the front yard. As her mother shrieked unintelligible words, Olive made her feet trudge up to the third floor bedroom to maintain the appearance of guilt, even though they wanted to skip cheerily to her Purity. As soon as she was out of sight, Olive bolted up the stairs and threw open the door of the third floor bedroom, or as she now thought of it, the room that held Purity. Sure enough, the snowy dove was perched on her headboard, cooing softly at her arrival. She fluttered onto Olive's outstretched hand.  
"It's so nice to have you here," Olive spoke the words so softly it seemed like each word was a single breath morphing into sound. "You'll always listen to me."  
"Olive?" A voice as sweet as a melody rang in Olive's ears. "Are you there?"  
Chyna! Olive panicked. The only person who had ever come up to the Third Floor Bedroom was Maid Someone, and she never stayed long enough to notice the lump nestled in Olive's blankets. She never even cleaned the room, as no one minded dust in a place meant for a naughty child. But Olive knew her sister had an eye for intricate detail, and she knew Purity would not escape her sister's glance.  
Before Olive could react, her sister swooped in with wide eyes.  
"Olive, what...what is that?" Her sister's eyes were wide with shock. "A dove...but..."  
"It flew through the window one day," Olive lied. It was not untrue entirely, at least.  
"It's beautiful," Chyna breathed, and a twinge of jealousy erupted in Olive.


End file.
